


I Touch Myself

by The_Quartermasters



Category: One Piece
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-09 07:29:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4339442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Quartermasters/pseuds/The_Quartermasters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sexual tension snaps with some accidental voyeurism. Originally Written February 2004</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Touch Myself

Zoro pulled his haramaki over his head as he stepped into the bathroom -- he hadn't been wearing a shirt all day due to Grandline's unseasonable weather. Thankfully it was cooler below deck and evening was falling, letting the temperature drop more. Zoro would have been perfectly happy to be dozing with a drink at the table but when he'd come in from his training, Sanji was in the galley working on dinner and had noisily ousted him from the kitchen with warnings that he wouldn't be seeing any dinner unless he bathed. Zoro was still growling softly to himself as he turned on the water, letting the spray wet his short hair and run rivulets down his back and chest. While he loathed to bend to Sanji's whim, he'd had a hard work-out, was hungry and he wouldn't admit it to the cook's face... but his food was fucking good. Really though, now that he was there the water felt really quite good on his overworked muscles and sighing, he started to relax under the spray. 

Fucking Sanji. Like every other warm day, Zoro had been forced to witness his constant fawning over Nami and Vivi on deck with drinks and ice cream and shaved ice and cooing and crooning like the lovesick animal he was. It was grotesque -- until the cook would turn away, his way and shoot a scowl at him, fingers yanking his tie loose or tugging free a few buttons for a moment of cool. He'd never make him unpresentable for the girls, for them his tie was perfectly straight, his appearance modest and kempt. And that glance his way as he tugged his clothes free served only to say "I don't give a shit about you." 

Unfortunately for himself, it served other things on Zoro's end. It was always easy enough at the moment to return the look with a sneer or a scowl or just ignore him but it was afterward, when he was alone with himself that it remet his thoughts and roiled through his mind's eye and his stomach. Those fucking cocky, narrowed eyes locking with his, a challenge that never went voiced while white fingers tugged at his collar, revealing a few inches of collarbone and pale plane of chest and hips moved in that slightly-too-feminine walk.

Zoro swore under his breath, soapy fingers longing to linger at the ache that was starting to gather in his groin, trying to will away the swell that had already begun. But those innocently-cleaning soapy-slick fingers curling around his stiffening length sealed his fate, the slow, ginger movements of cleaning himself only serving to make the ache surge.

While everyone else was either lounging on deck or getting cleaned up for dinner, Sanji was leaning over the kitchen counter, adding ingredients to a bowl that would be a light, cool dip for the veggies he was about to chop up. It was a bit too warm for anything involving either the stove or the oven this evening; Sanji's tie had already been laid aside, a good two or three buttons of his shirt plucked open, but still he wore his apron, conscious of decent hygiene. He was thankfully alone --too warm to concentrate well when there's a sweating swordsman glaring over your shoulder-- and though he'd never throw out either of the ladies if they decided to pay him a pre-dinner visit, he felt no qualms about ordering Zoro from the room. He really couldn't deal with the distraction tonight. Not when the weather was already pulling his nerves thin. 

It was quite possibly only Zoro's training as a swordsman that let him ignore the growing need between his legs, focusing on washing himself. However while he could control his actions, his thoughts were a bit more difficult to reign now that the seed had been planted. Thoughts of that damn cook and the way his hips moved when he was cooking, the way his well-fit slacks clung to the curves of his ass when he leaned over something, concentrating too hard to catch stolen glances. The sprawled, thin form on the couch on some nights, where Zoro could see him from one of the hammocks, peacefully sleeping with quivering lips, probably kissing some beautiful girl in his dreams. 

Zoro cursed the cook and his increasingly maddening interest in him, how right when he was sure he had the idea purged from his system, he'd cross Sanji in the bunkroom after his shower. Towel around his bare shoulders, slacks slung low on his hips without a belt to support them. Cheeks still flushed with steamy heat and water droplets clinging to his chest and falling from the tips of his hair.

Bracing himself on the wall, leaning heavily against the tile, Zoro grit his teeth, still just letting the water travel along his body, down his chest, stomach, tracking lines through the light hair that led to his undeniable arousal. Warm, trickling trails sent shivers and shudders through his stomach, just taunting him more. Finally, the water starting to go cool, Zoro let a hand slide down his scarred torso, let his fingers curl around his aching cock. He bit back a groan as his fingers slid along the swollen, needy flesh, the only aspect of his body he couldn't gain complete control of no matter how much he trained. The water had gone cold so absentmindedly, Zoro moved from the stream, sinking to the edge of the bath with his hand still curled around his flesh, letting the water spray mask the soft sounds of his breath as he stroked himself.

Sanji had both hands in the sink, scrubbing at a dusty carrot and hoping they would have a chance to replenish his meager supply of fresh food, when the warm water went cold and he realized he could still hear the shower going. It'd been what, almost half an hour since that dumbass got in and he'd already overworked the heater. Grumbling irritably, he set down the carrot and drying his hands on the edge of his apron, made his way toward the bathroom. 

At the door to the bath, he called out. "Zoro! Oi, teme! I think you're clean enough to sit at my table; hurry it up!" When there was no response, Sanji lifted a fist to knock, but as his knuckles made contact, the door, that Zoro had apparently failed to latch, swung open to reveal a very naked, very wet swordsman in what was very obviously supposed to be a very private little moment. 

Sanji coughed and stumbled back, out of the doorway, pulling the door shut after him and exiting the bathroom, very quickly made his way back to the kitchen, where he decided the carrot was clean enough and attempted to calm his nerves and the flush that had sprung into his cheeks. Kuso-bushido...

Zoro stared in horror as the door slammed shut, his fingers still curled tightly around his cock. So wrapped up in sensation, he didn't even realize that Sanji was watching him pump himself with hard strokes, eyes squeezed shut and jaw set, until the cook coughed and Zoro first jerked and then froze. He could feel his erection receding from his fingers as he stared, wide-eyed, at the door and a horrible feeling sank into his bones.

It took a long moment for him to even gather the wits to rise and turn off the water -- that must have been why Sanji was barging in. The dread and panic started to recede and logic started to take over again. This *wasn't* a big deal. Sanji was a guy and god knows, he did it too. Zoro had listened to him late at night when he must have thought the others were asleep and the snores would drown out the sound. There was no reason that Sanji would think Zoro's thoughts were on him -- so there was no reason to worry. It was with this in mind, that Zoro mustered his most disgusted scowl for Sanji when he entered the galley for dinner.

Sanji though, didn't turn from the counter when he heard the door open and the heavy footsteps that could only be Zoro's enter and approach the table. He just concentrated on chopping carrots, faster and more recklessly than he normally would. It was only his skill that kept his fingers attached to his hands. Finally he placed the platter of veggies and cold thinly sliced meats and bread down on the table and made eye-contact with Zoro. 

"Why don't you tell the others it's ready?" he suggested, utterly deadpan.

"I'm sure the girls would be much happier to hear your melodic voice calling them to dinner," Zoro replied, narrowing his eyes and dripping with sarcasm. He was determined to be as uncooperative as possible just in case... He knew Sanji had no reason to think he had anything but contempt for the cook but better to make sure the idea was nice and clear. With this, Zoro rose from the table to retrieve a nice large bottle of liquor for himself.

Sanji was just turning back from hanging his apron, about to retrieve his tie and make himself presentable again when he saw Zoro grabbing for some of the best wine. "Oi, kusoyaro. Back off the wine rack. That barrel of rum can't possibly be empty yet." Though he knew very well that it could be; if they'd been at sea long enough for his food stores to be running low, there wasn't really any hope that the booze had lasted as long. He scowled and crossed the room, plucking the bottle from Zoro's hands and heading back to the door that led out on deck. At the very least he could save this bottle, Sanji thought, looking at the label. One of his best vintages and Zoro'd been ready to chug it like common ale.

"Oh but it can be," Zoro muttered under his breath and as Sanji left, he went back to the rack and picked a new, bigger bottle, making sure it had a nice fancy label. If there was one thing Sanji sure as hell wouldn't be denying him right now, it was booze. He'd downed a good fourth of the bottle when Sanji returned, Luffy nearly plowing him down in the doorway.

"MESHIIIIIIII!" the captain shrieked, launching himself at the table and would have wolfed the whole meal himself, had Sanji not swept the platter out of reach just in time. He made sure to serve the girls their portions first before letting the rest of the crew dig in. He'd noticed the bottle in Zoro's grip and had half a mind to say something right there, but he restrained himself in the presence of Nami and Vivi, putting on his most gracious face while wishing murderous death to the pervert of a swordsman that was sucking on his wine.

Spearing a small sausage with a toothpick, he offered it to Zoro across the table with a small smirk. "Sausage?" he raised his brow suggestively.

Zoro outright choked on his liquor then and raised his arm to his mouth to stifle his coughing, warranting a concerned inquiry from Vivi which he shrugged off, fixing Sanji with a murderous glare. If he'd been able he would have thought up some excuse to get in a fight with the cook right there but he realized it would be too obvious so instead he yanked the sausage from Sanji's hand defiantly, ripped into it viciously and guzzled half the bottle of wine to chase it, all the while glaring straight into the cook's face and trying very, very hard not to let heat creep into his cheeks. Sanji didn't bother to cover the chuckle that left his lips. It was almost worth a bottle of wine to provoke that sort of reaction out of Zoro. 

After the meal, Nami and Vivi shooed Luffy out of the kitchen despite his protests of still being hungry but after a moment of glancing between the stewing Zoro and the smirking cook, he decided that he had an appointment with the crow's nest and scurried from the room. Sanji, meanwhile gathered the dishes and placed them by the sink. He tested the water to find that it still ran cold and so with a sigh he hung up his towel. The dishes would have to wait. Through all of this he steadfastly ignored the swordsman who still nursed the last bit of the wine with his feet on the table. 

Watching Sanji from the corner of his eye go about his routine, Zoro sucked down the last of the wine, thankful for the soft burn down his throat and the gentle fuzz that softened his thoughts. He realized that Sanji would be finishing up soon and it would put him in danger of encountering the cook's very much unwanted attention. So brushing past Sanji with another dirty look, he tossed the bottle away before shoving his hands in his pockets as he made for the door.

Sanji waited til Zoro's footsteps faded before turning away from the sink and crossing the galley floor to shut the door he'd left open. Leaning back against the solid wood, Sanji's hand found the latch and fastened the bolt. He wasn't careless like Zoro. Running his fingers through sandy blond hair, Sanji sighed. It really had been annoying enough, far distracting enough to simply have the swordsman on board, shirtless, stomping around and swinging his weights and sweating all over the place. Now, though, the image of Zoro, pressed against the shower wall, slick with soap and water, hands... so very occupied was burned into Sanji's thoughts. 

And even worse were the stirrings that began in his groin when he lingered more than a moment on that image. He didn't like Zoro. Not really. The guy was obnoxious and drank too much. Too much of Sanji's alcohol. He seemed to object to decent, civilized conversation, and he treated everyone, even the girls, as though they... just happened to be there along the way to whatever stupid goals he had. And yet... the cook considered. There was something about fighting with Zoro. 

Whether it was a petty argument or a fight alongside the swordsman against a common enemy, that got into Sanji's blood and didn't leave it. It drove him mad, but it excited him too. And he let his hand drop from his hair to his thigh, honestly surprised to find his slacks a bit too tight. He had the grace to flush, despite his complete privacy and, checking again to make sure the galley door was locked, tentatively pressed his palm against that growing heat with a stifled groan. "Shit.." he scowled at himself. "Fuck. Fuck me," he chastised himself, but didn't remove his hand.

With a defeated sort of sigh, Sanji slid down to the floor, his back still to the door. With only slightly trembling hands, he undid the button on his slacks and tugged at the zipper, pulling down the waistband of his shorts and letting his arousal free. Biting his lip, the cook began to stroke at the half-firm flesh, coaxing it into full erection, thumbing at his head with a choked moan. He tried to call to mind Nami, mentally untying her bikini top, but Zoro's soapy image kept coming back to mind. It was his hands. Sanji couldn't stop thinking of his hands, rough and hard, large, calloused, so clumsy looking. But so skilled with the blades. So gentle when he polished that white sword of his, protective and careful when he carried Chopper on his shoulders. Hands that clenched in anger, that swung through the air, that gripped the liquor bottle. 

Sanji stroked harder, thinking of Zoro's hands on his, accidental touches when loading cargo or passing out dinner plates. Nami's hard-to-get playfulness, Vivi's grace and beauty, endless nameless girls he tried to recall, to bring forward in his memory, but Zoro's hands kept appearing, pushing them away, reaching for Sanji. The cook curled over, thrusting harder into his tight fist, pushing up his shirt with the other hand to caress his own stomach, imagining Zoro instead. Soon, with a groan, he was coming, spilling over his fingers, biting his lips, cheeks flushed with pleasure and embarrassment, his smug attitude earlier at discovering Zoro humbled by the honesty of his own actions. And how much more pathetic was -he- that after his teasing, his smirks, -Sanji- was the one crouched on the galley floor, jerking off to thoughts of the swordsman. Fuck, he was stupid. 

 

By the time Zoro made it down to the bunkroom, after dozing up on deck in the cool evening air for a while, all the proper beds were taken. Luffy and Chopper were in the hammocks, Usopp was on watch and Sanji was sprawled across the couch. This was fine with the swordsman and he sank to the floor, glancing at the sleeping cook with residual malice but not placing himself too far from the couch.

Sanji hadn't even bothered to undress, choosing instead to collapse on the couch, dress shirt, slacks and all, exhausted from thinking too much and... his other activities. He was already asleep by the time Zoro entered the room, and he only shifted slightly in his sleep, murmuring under his breath.

Zoro folded his arms behind his head, eyeing the sleeping cook. The cliche 'an angel when he's sleeping' ran through his head -- it was hard to believe Sanji was such a pain in the ass in his waking hours when he was sleeping peacefully, golden hair spilling haphazardly across his face. He mumbled something unintelligible. It wasn't uncommon for Sanji to make all manner of noises in his sleep. Really, the cook had no place teasing Zoro for getting caught with all the dreams he had. And Zoro might have been able to enjoy them, in all Sanji's whimpering and squirming if it weren't for Nami's name murmured from his lips.

In his dreams Nami smiled sweetly and took his face in her hand, touching his lips with a finger and shaking her head. Then she floated away and Zeff was there, angry, kicking him to the deck as a bowl of broth broke on the boards by his head, and when he raised his eyes, Zoro stood before him, dark dark eyes staring him down, accusingly, eyes full of hate and betrayal and Sanji didn't understand. He whimpered softly in his sleep as Zoro, too, turned away and faded even as Sanji reached out and everything else disappeared and the cook shivered in his sleep with Zoro's name on his tongue. 

Settling in to the floor, Zoro sighed and closed his eyes and listened to Sanji shift in his sleep. But the barely audible little murmur of familiar syllables met his ears and Zoro's eyes snapped open. Out of the corner of his eye, he stared at Sanji, wide-eyed and frozen. And waiting.

Sanji's brow furrowed as dream images flitted in and out of his mind. Finally, he found a familiar face again. Familiar hands that splayed across his skin and slid down his ribs and traced the lines of his hips. Ghostly dream hands, but strong and rough and he knew those hands and he shifted in sleep, moaning very quietly, the syllables a hiss between his teeth.

Zoro didn't even realize he was holding his breath until he exhaled sharply when his lungs started to burn. His gaze was fixed on Sanji's face, stock-still, ears stretching to hear every tiny sound, brow tensing. He didn't dare think for a moment that Sanji was dreaming like *that* about him, assuming the use of his name was a grumble of distaste. But the soft sounds coming from the cook's lips now seemed to indicate otherwise. Transfixed, Zoro sat up, leaned forward, squinting through the dim light at Sanji.

Sanji's breath was coming in little gasps now, his brow creased. As those hands covered his skin, touching every place he quivered, soothing and exciting at once. He didn't dare try to look upon the face of his dream, afraid it would vanish into mist. But that strong, soft touch all over at once was beginning to have an affect on his physical body as well as his dream body and Sanji shifted in his sleep so that he lay on his stomach, pressed against the couch and trapping his quickly filling arousal beneath his slight weight. 

Zoro's breath meanwhile was quick and deep. A tension coiled in his stomach as he watched Sanji move in his sleep, his hips squirm slightly against the couch. A quick glance as he'd been in the process of turning over left no doubt in his mind just what he was pressing into the couch. Zoro's mouth was dry, his palms were sweating. But he kept waiting, tense and silent but for his quick breaths, waiting, expecting any moment to hear the muffled, muttered name of Nami or Vivi or some other girl, waiting for the word to snuff out the heat and tension that was gathering in his own loins.

Meanwhile, one of Sanji's hands had found its way under his hips and mirrored the movements of the hands in his dream. Zoro's hands. And a tiny moan caught in his throat as the roving fingers brushed across the sensitive head. It wasn't enough then... even in his dream the hands were too gentle now. The fantasy of rough thick fingers began to fall apart and a whine broke from Sanji's lips. No... come back... Zoro... and his hand closed around his arousal, taking it roughly, trying to regain that illusion, but it was no use and he jerked into consciousness, frustrated and unsatisfied and embaressed, face pressed into the cushions. 

For a long moment, Zoro didn't even realize that Sanji had woke, still staring at the now-still form until he stirred again, starting to sit up. With a very unsubtle *wumf*, Zoro had tossed himself back to the floor and turned quickly away from Sanji to hide his burning cheeks. He tried to slow his breathing into an emulation of sleep but it was no use and only succeeded in making his breath erratic and more attention-drawing.

But Sanji was so tightly wound and frustrated from his nightmares and failed fantasies that the swordsman's irregular breathing didn't even register as he pulled himself off the couch and stumbled to the bathroom. Now that he was awake, he'd have to do something about the throbbing between his thighs if he ever hoped to get back to sleep this night.

Zoro jerked back up when the door clicked shut, blinking through the darkness. Shit. Shit, shit, shit, this was a bad idea. Somehow this mantra didn't prevent him however from hauling himself to his feet and hurrying to follow Sanji. He managed to make it to the doorway before Sanji could get very far at all. "Oi, teme," he growled from the shadows.

Sanji gave a start and whirled around, arm shielding his face instinctively. He immediately recognized the looming form, but his pulse didn't slow, and Zoro or not, he had more important things to deal with. He -really- didn't need the swordsman's attitude just now. So he turned from the other man with a scowl. "Go back to sleep. I'm not gonna steal your swords. Just taking a piss."

"The hell you are," Zoro snapped and moved forward before he could get away, grabbing Sanji by the wrist, yanking him back roughly. The swordsman's eyes were narrowed, shining in the dark as they bored into Sanji's. "You said my name." His voice was a low growl.

Sanji's voice caught in his throat for a moment, then he smirked. "As I kicked your ass for stealing my girl," he snorted. He knew it was a bad lie. But hell if he was gonna just come right out and say it. Shit, the moron would never let him live it down. He might not anyway... 

Zoro hesitated only slightly, then scowled and in a quick movement, he shoved Sanji back, hard against the wall. "Fuck you, you liar," he spat. His heavy hand pressed Sanji's shoulder into the wall. He scowled into Sanji's face. "Kicking my ass must really get you hot, then, huh?"

Sanji's eyes flashed and he shoved back against Zoro. "Fuck you, too! Why the hell are you so worked up about it?" He growled, gritting his teeth. He didn't exactly deny what Zoro said but he did pause a moment before narrowing his eyes in a smirk, "Oh, I get it, I woke up before you were done jacking off to your own stupid fantasies!" He didn't even want to know what got the swordsman off. "Fucking pervert." 

"I'm not the one sneaking around to watch other guys in the shower," Zoro shot back, shoving back and very much in Sanji's face. Never mind the fact that he just watched Sanji's squirm-inducing dream.

Sanji snarled. "Believe me, if I'd known I'd get the full frontal, I would have let you waste the hot water as long as you wanted." He curled his lip in distaste. 

Zoro's eyes narrowed, finally falling silent for a moment, calculating, peering into Sanji's face. Then he turned from the blond with a final rough shove and took a step away before turning his head just the slightest to say, quietly, challengingly, "Let me watch." Sanji was already calling him a pervert from the earlier incident, he rationalized, so the cook's opinion of him could hardly be lowered. "It's only fair -- since you saw me."

Sanji narrowed his eyes, suspicious, trying to figure out how the swordsman could use this against him later if he agreed. He wasn't sure.. but hell if he trusted Zoro. "No way," he replied, but paused to look over his shoulder as he turned to head for the bathroom. It was impossible to read Zoro's motivation in this request. But Sanji's arousal was undeniably heavier after their tousle in the hall and was beginning to ache with inattention. It was difficult to concentrate on being offended. "You tell anyone... you make any mention of it, no matter how subtle, I kick your ass.... and you don't eat for a week." He was panting now, anxious only to relieve the tension that gripped his abdomen. Unbidden, a hand slipped down to cup and push lightly against the straining fabric of his slacks. 

Zoro wordlessly followed Sanji into the bathroom, letting the door click shut behind him. Painfully aware of keeping up his aloof appearance, despite the fact that his stomach was doing flip-flops, he slid down the door to sit on the floor, leaning against it and cast an expectant gaze at Sanji.

Sanji sat against the opposite wall and pushed his shorts down again to release his erection, flushed and angry at being ignored far too long. Sanji refused to look up, indeed to even acknowledge the presence of the other in the room, and he bit his lip against any sort of noise, incriminating or otherwise that might slip his lips as he dampened a palm with his tongue and began stroking hard and quick. No foreplay here. It was a need that needed to be fufilled, that was all. And if he had to let Zoro watch to get the swordsman to keep his mouth shut, well, then he'd just try to forget that he was there, watching Sanji. He shivered as the image of Zoro in the shower, of Zoro's strong soapy hands flitted across his vision. Dammit. He gritted his teeth and pumped harder.

Zoro shifted, bending one knee to rest his elbow against, the back of his hand moving to his lips without thinking about it. His knuckles brushed over his lips and slow, even breaths washed over his fingers while his eyes fixed on Sanji. His stomach twisted at the sight of Sanji's flushed, weeping head jerking and bobbing in the circle of his pale fingers and fuck but his hands ached to touch it, wondering how similar it felt to his own cock which now throbbed with each jerk of Sanji's fingers. Zoro swallowed hard but quiet, gaze flicking from Sanji's tense, flushed face to his stroking hand and seeping cock. 

Despite his determination to make no sound, Sanji couldn't stop the faint moans that slipped from his throat. He rationalized that it was all right, as long as he wasn't too loud, and as long as he kept that damned name from his tongue. He'd since given up trying to wipe Zoro's image from his mind. In fact, much as he hated to admit it, it made touching himself that much better. He'd almost forgotten the other man was in the room as he gave a gasp and a shudder and came, hard, curling over his hand and breathing harshly. 

Zoro was almost panting now, his stomach twisting and erection throbbing as he watched Sanji spill over his fingers, his seed spattering on the tile near his foot and dripping from Sanji's fingers. At some point, unbidden, Zoro's hand had made its way to his crotch and was kneading at the arousal straining painfully against his trousers. For the briefest moment he closed his eyes and listened to the other catching his breath and could almost imagine it was his own hands that had made Sanji gasp and shudder, could almost feel the hot liquid splashing across his palms.

It was a good few moments, while Sanji caught his breath, before he noticed the movement and faint sounds across the room and he raised his eyes to see Zoro touching himself through his pants. A shiver went down his spine and for the moment, all he could do was watch and try not to seem too obvious. Let Zoro think he still jerked off to thoughts of Nami. He wondered what Zoro had been thinking when he'd been interrupted earlier. What he was thinking about now. He couldn't imagine what got the man off. He leaned forward slightly, hands supporting him on the cool tiles.

Zoro managed to muster enough self-control to lift his eyes, freezing, stiffening when his gaze met Sanji's. He swore under his breath and looked away, cheeks heating so much he was sure Sanji must feel it across the room. "It's late," he muttered, making to get up despite the very obvious bulge in his trousers. "My watch is soon."

Sanji stared at him mouth hanging open. "You can't be serious," he said, staring pointedly at Zoro's unattended arousal. 

Zoro scowled and blushed harder but gave up in his effort to rise. Movement was downright painful at this point, the confines of his pants becoming chaffing. "Didn't get enough this afternoon?" Zoro snapped stubbornly, avoiding Sanji's gaze. His fingers though did return to the front of his trousers, hesitantly trailing over his length through the fabric.

"Don't give me that," Sanji protested. "I unintentionally caught a glimpse and left. You've just sat there watching me this whole time." He pointed. "And apparently reminded yourself of whatever it was I interrupted earlier." He scowled slightly, wondering why he didn't just leave Zoro there and go back to bed. Instead he planted himself stubbornly where he sat, folding his arms across his chest and debating whether or not to ask Zoro what lucky girl got to polish his sword in his fantasies. For some reason he bit back the sarcastic inquiry. He didn't think he wanted to know anyway.

Zoro glared at Sanji but gave in enough to open his trousers, choking on a groan at the simple relief of releasing his erection from its trapped and strangled state. Mustering all his restraint, he didn't stroke himself though, instead just curling his fingers around his length, letting fingertips trail over his head. And breathing slowly, face still flushed, he turned his narrowed eyes on Sanji again, looking him directly in the face. "What really happened in that dream of yours?" he demanded.

Sanji had the grace to blush at the question. He immediately felt defensive. "It was just a stupid dream..." he muttered, scowling.

"Yeah, and dreams don't mean shit," Zoro pressed, impatiently. He had to know. "I had a dream about being a damn hamster once, that doesn't mean I am. So tell me."

Sanji cursed under his breath. "Fine! But if you laugh, or say one derisive word, or tell ANYBODY, I'll fucking kill you." Sanji looked Zoro dead in the face as he said this. It wasn't an idle threat. With a mutter under his breath, Sanji cleared his throat. "It was a nightmare at first. Everyone kept disappearing, Nami, that stupid old chef... you. Just faded away into black. It was cold and empty and then someone came back and... touched me. And there were these warm hands touching me all over and..." He frowned, cheeks flushed. "They were your hands, okay? Are you happy now? Che..." Sanji crossed his arms more firmly and stared petulantly at the floor. 

For a moment Zoro could only blink, staring at Sanji. But then his cock throbbed against his fingers, reminding him and he shifted, grunting very softly. Resting his arm on his bent knee, he pressed his cheek against it, closing his eyes as he started stroking himself slowly, shuddering faintly with his overwhelming desire. "What were they doing?" he pressed.

Sanji flushed, half annoyed at the swordsman's questions, half embaressed. And why did he bother to answer? He scowled. "I dunno! Just... touching. I woke up before... anything happened." He looked down at his hand, still faintly sticky and wiped it roughly against his pant leg.

Fuck but Sanji was determined to make this difficult. Zoro eyed him over the edge of his arm where his cheekbone rested as he pumped his length slowly. "Your body was saying otherwise," he grated. He wanted details and what small amount of subtlety the swordsman had was failing him. "What was I doing?" he insisted.

Sanji narrowed his eyes and heaved a frustrated sigh. "You... you touched my face." He cleared his throat and brought a hand to his cheeks. "Like this." He moved his fingers down the curve of his jaw and brushed them across his flush-dark lips. Then he let them slip down his neck and trace the angles of his collarbone. He undid the buttons on his shirt one by one, then shrugged the fabric from his shoulders. "And like this." He palm spread across the pale flesh of his chest and trailed down to his abdomen and inched toward his cock, lightly touching its base as he bit his lip. If he kept this up, it wouldn't be long before he was hard again. He lifted his face. "And then I woke up."

\--I woke up and it was just a stupid dream, like so many others--

Zoro's eyes followed Sanji's fingers down his body, gripping himself, stroking himself harder, faster as those fingers -- his fingers -- moved lower. Panting very softly, he turned his gaze away, pressing his eyes shut when Sanji's gaze lifted. Gritting, baring his teeth behind his arm, Sanji could only see the tense brow, squeezed-shut eyes and hear the ground-out, choked-out, strangled sound as Zoro spilled over his fingers.

Sanji swallowed hard as he watched Zoro stroke himself to climax and release. It made something in his own stomach jump an twitch. This was what he'd missed the first time, in his accidental voyeurism. He licked his lips and filed away this image with the others. The shower and the dream hands... god, what was he getting himself in to? Zoro was obviously just taking advantage of the situation, getting off on making Sanji humble himself, embaress himself, admit his dreams, even if he'd never admit anything more than the unconscious fantasies. He knew they should be returning to the bunk room, but Sanji couldn't quite bring himself to say anything, let alone stand.

Zoro breathed slowly, heavily into the circle of his arm, a soft, satisfied groan escaping his lips. Finally he lifted his gaze to meet Sanji's. It seemed like he should say something, that perhaps he even owed the other man an explanation of some kind. But he couldn't bring himself to break the silence, nor could he even think of anything to say. A faint creak somewhere on the ship saved him though and Zoro hauled himself to his feet suddenly.

"Shit, my watch," he muttered under his breath, hurrying to grab a towel and clean himself up. Stupid black pants -- he tugged his haramaki lower. Zoro hesitated in the doorway with a brief glance back at Sanji before ducking out of the bathroom without another word. Usopp would be looking for him.

 

Sanji leaned over the railing at the bow of the ship, taking a drag on his cigarette and letting the slight breeze pull the smoke from his lips. The moon was a sliver, but the starlight was enough to see the waves below. Sanji couldn't sleep. It had been a week since that night with Zoro. That night he had dreamt of his hands. And every night since, the same dream had plagued him, Zoro's hands on his quivering naked body, but never, never did they get farther than that first slight brush against his aching cock. He always awoke, frustrated, panting, unbearably hard. A few times he'd been able to will it away, but more often he'd visited the bath and finished himself off with gritted teeth, cursing Zoro and cursing the dreams that didn't let him have even the fantasy. He sucked again at his cigarette, letting the smoke and nicotine soothe his frayed nerves, but it was becoming harder and harder to do this. Thrusting his hand through his hair, he again leaned over the railing, inhaling deeply. He pondered confessing these thoughts to the swordsman. He wondered what part of his anatomy Zoro's katana would taste first. And he sighed. 

The week had been oddly comfortable and uncomfortable at the same time. They bickered and argued just as much as ever but Zoro was aware of something odd in the air between them between the fights. Part of him was hoping for another chance to corner Sanji and get another opportunity to see him touch himself but had to wonder if that would be possible with that discomfort lingering. He wondered, questioning over and over, wondering at Sanji's dream, if it really was just a fluke as the cook claimed or if he was hiding something else. The swordsman didn't dare to say or do anything until he was sure. So he waited, trying to think of a way that he might coax Sanji into letting him watch again, waiting for more information to surface.

It was this night, a week later that he cast his gaze down to the deck from his perch in the crow's nest on watch and his eyes fell on smoke-hazed figure below. It was ridiculously late, he couldn't imagine why Sanji would be up. Curious and eager anyway to make a nuisance of himself, Zoro stepped down onto the rungs that led down the mast. "Oi," he said simply as he swung off of the ladder and his boots landed surprisingly lightly on the deck.

Sanji turned, cigarette pinched between his lips, breeze ruffling his hair just slightly. He regarded the swordsman silently for a moment. "My watch already?" he asked absently.

"No, not yet," Zoro replied, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he languidly crossed the deck. "Just cramped up there." He came to rest near Sanji, leaning heavily against the rail. He glanced at Sanji from the corner of his eye. "In fact your watch isn't for another hour. You really eager or something?"

"Oh." Sanji considered this bit of information. "No... just can't sleep." He paused to switch the cigarette from his mouth to his fingers. "...I can take my watch early if you want to sleep," he offered. 

Zoro blinked for a long moment, taken aback by Sanji offering to do anything that would make his life more pleasant. "Uh, no, that's okay." He considered saying he wasn't tired but he knew Sanji knew perfectly well Zoro simply wasn't one that could ever 'not sleep'. He eyed Sanji for another long moment before bolstering his courage. "Oi, about the other night."

Sanji's gaze lifted from the grain of the deck to a spot near Zoro's shoulder. He didn't say anything though, just held his breath and waited for Zoro to continue, unsure that he'd like the direction this was going.

Zoro's gaze remained fixed on the horizon as he spoke. He was on watch after all. "That dream you had." His voice was harder than he'd intended. "Have you had others like it before?" His stomach clenched with the question but outwardly he kept his cool, sparing a quick glance at the cook.

Sanji wasn't sure he was of a mood to be chastised for his sexual drive, so he answered guardedly. "Not... quite like it." He was being intentionally vague, waiting to see if he could divine Zoro's intention.

"Obviously you dream about Nami all the time -- we all know that," Zoro managed to get a jab in about Sanji's libido, regardless. He felt stupid actually asking this out loud but the question had been plaguing him. "But what I mean is... have you dreamt about me?"

He'd be lying if he said the broad-shouldered swordsman had never entered his dreams before, but what he said was, "Only every fucking night for the last week," almost under his breath.

Zoro's cool exterior cracked just then, composure breaking for genuine shock to show through. His eyes turned from the sea to Sanji, disbelieving. "Wh-what?"

He lifted his tired vision to find Zoro's face, the dark circle etched under Sanji's one visible eye illuminated by the starlight. "I said," he took a breath, "I've dreamt about you every. fucking. night. for the last week." He snorted then and took a deep drag on his cigarette. After a stretch of silence from the swordsman, Sanji turned and said, "That's your cue to laugh at me."

There was no laughter from Zoro though, in fact only more shock was evident on his sharp features. This wasn't something he'd written into the equation, not at all. Now he absolutely had to know. And suddenly his hand was snaking out, grabbing Sanji's wrist and yanking him closer, trapping him between the rail and Zoro's own person. "Oi, teme..." he growled and it took a moment for him to gather the courage to look at Sanji. When he did his eyes were dark. When he spoke again, his voice was low and quiet. "When I... when I touch you in your dreams, what's it like?" Still skirting the real question.

Sanji was caught off guard, but he didn't struggle against Zoro's grip. In fact, a little piece of him thrilled at the rough touch and he mentally chastised himself for this realization. With a small sigh, he forced himself to meet Zoro's dark eyes. "Frustrating," he answered. "Hot, rough, but unbearably careful and so slow." He swallowed hard. 

Hesitation flickered in Zoro's eyes, narrowing for the briefest moment and darting over Sanji's features. His shoulders were tense, his stomach so tight it ached. His grip on Sanji's wrist tightened a little. "And... do you want it?" he finally managed to get out the question quietly, hoarsely. Infinitely easier when he was talking about his phantom dream self but still so difficult it sent tension rippling up his back.

When Sanji replied, it was quietly, smoke swirling from his lips. "The more I want... the more you fade. The more your hands withdraw. The sooner I wake up." He coughed quietly then looked over Zoro's shoulder with a funny sort of smile. "Lately, your hands don't get past my lips."

Zoro's fingers took the cigarette from Sanji's lips and tossed it into the waves. His palm on Sanji's cheek was calussed from bindings and weights. His dark eyes were conflicted, suspicious, he still wasn't sure of what he was hearing. But his hands ached, had ached all week, to touch, wanting Sanji to want the touch. Just as Sanji had told him it happened in the dream, his fingers moved down his face, brushing over his lips. Zoro barely dared to breathe.

Sanji's breath caught in his chest and a chill shook his shoulders. "Yeah," he mumbled. "Just like that." He was leaning against the railing, his knuckles white from gripping the wood so tightly. He closed his eyes. "Just like that."

Eyes locked on Sanji's face, Zoro let his fingers slowly, so slowly trail down Sanji's throat. He swallowed, managing to keep the tremble out of his fingers as he released the cook's thin wrist for his other hand to join the first in pulling free the buttons of Sanji's shirt, further and further down. Then his palms splayed on the pale, soft expanse of Sanji's chest, just feeling, fuck he felt so good, across collar bones and trailing over rosy nipples.

Sanji felt light-headed, but he couldn't move, held in place by some invisible force, as though he were back in his dream. And for a moment, Sanji wandered if that wasn't exactly what had happened. If he weren't asleep again. And any moment it would all fade... But the hands on his skin didn't withdraw and he found himself holding his breath, waiting. "Yes," he murmured. "Then here." He indicated the smooth pale expanse of his abdomen. 

With each breath, Zoro would hold it unconsciously until it was released in a tiny sigh. His fingers traced over the muscles of Sanji's slender, flat stomach. Silk stretched over steel. It was that strength that attracted Zoro so much -- that deceptive exterior that made Sanji appear just like another frail, pretty boy. But underneath he rippled with power, with a strength that he carried unlike anyone Zoro had seen. The fingers of one hand hooked in the waistband of Sanji's slacks as his fingers wandered down his stomach, Zoro's mouth dry.

Sanji's hand suddenly closed around Zoro's wrist. "Wait," he managed to whisper, then looked around them. He wasn't ready to be quite so brash as to act out his dreams right up on deck, in the open like this. He hated to interrupt the moment with voice but... "...not here." He said, terrified he assumed too much, assumed something would actually happen right here if he didn't say something. The risk he took scared him. He felt very bare, open, vulnerable.

"Come on," Zoro murmured, torn only briefly between his watch duty and the cook's body. He felt confident enough in his senses to be aware of any danger. He couldn't stop now, he needed more of that touch, desperately needed more of Sanji. So taking the cook by the wrist, he pulled him into the shelter the galley provided, not bothering with any lights and latching the door behind them. Turning, he caught Sanji between himself and the door, still holding his wrist and pressed him back against the cool wood. Hungry lips wasted no time in finding Sanji's neck while a calussed hand returned to his stomach, touching, burning for the skin, roaming over his side, his hip, around over his back and up his spine. 

Though he'd been waiting for a week, perhaps longer, for that touch, for it to be real, Zoro's enthusiasm surprised Sanji and he closed his hand around Zoro's wrist once more. He wasn't going to be the only one to confess his night-time activities. "What.. what do you think about..." Formulating the question wasn't an easy task with Zoro's tongue and fingers on his flesh. "...when... when you touch yourself?" There, he'd asked it. 

Zoro hesitated, his breath hot on Sanji's neck. Even here, pressed against Sanji in the cool confines of the kitchen, he was loathe to reveal the information. But he was more loathe to the idea of loosing that contact, of Sanji pushing him away so he forced his voice to find its way to his lips. His breath washed over Sanji's ear as he spoke softly. "Hot days when you button down your shirt." His cheek brushed against Sanji's hair, he breathed slowly. "The way you look at me when you loosen your tie. The way you flick your cigarette after a good fight. The noises you make in your sleep." It almost burned to reveal so much and Zoro tensed with the confession as though bracing himself for the blow that Sanji would be sure to deal but he didn't move away.

Sanji choked a little, his throat having suddenly grown thick. His brain tried to convince him that it was a lie, some elaborate set up toward one giant practical joke, but the ache in Sanji's chest wanted to believe something else and the other words that made it past his lips was a cracked, "Really?" and then some moments later his whisper was, "...Me?" 

Zoro was annoyed to find himself rather embarassed by this and for the briefest moment, he had it in his mind to pull away. But then he remembered how long it had taken to get this close to Sanji so instead he just looked away and muttered, "Yes, asshole." He wondered if Sanji was teasing him with all these questions, if now that he had that piece of information, he'd push him away. To combat this concept, he fought back Sanji's hold on his wrist to press his hand to the warm, hard surface of his stomach. "This."

Sanji's grip on Zoro's wrist loosened and instead his palm opened to cover the larger hand on his skin. Warm, rough, gentle. Real. "Oh," was his only verbal response before he leaned forward and took Zoro's mouth with his, one pale hand on either side of the swordsman's face. 

Zoro's eyes widened with the contact, cool fingers on his face and warm lips against his. He could feel the tingle of nicotine still lingering on Sanji's lips. And then that embarassed burn in his stomach was flooding away, replaced with Sanji's taste as he opened his mouth over the other man's, drawing, demanding that smoky, harsh flavor with hungry kisses. Pushing him back against the door, trapping the slighter frame with his own body. Thrusting his tongue past Sanji's lips and teeth, hungry with the lust of too many unfulfilled fantasies, too many nights imagining this very taste, this very touch.

Sanji moaned quietly into the other's mouth, thrusting the tongue back with his own, weaving his fingers back into the short green hair, tugging slightly but not hard enough to break the contact between their lips. This was more than he'd dreamed of; he hadn't even imagined how searing, how... how fucking good Zoro's touch would really feel. Infinitely more satisfying than late-night jacking off. And Zoro's hands, mouth hadn't even reached past his waistband... yet. He shivered at the thought.

Sucking at Sanji's invading tongue, hands pressed up Sanji's back beneath his open shirt, pressing his front to Zoro's. All heat and taste and wandering hands, unable to touch enough at once. Drowning in Sanji and demanding more, breathing and drinking and swallowing him. Teeth biting his lips, his tongue, fingers grasping at his flesh, taking everything roughly, forcefully as though afraid that at any moment Sanji would change his mind, pull away with a laugh at the joke of it all. Those rough hands wandered over muscles and ribs as though they had to take everything in, touch every inch before they lost the chance. 

And Sanji's skin sparked, hummed, burned at every touch, as though every inch of flesh that Zoro laid his fingers to was thus marked, etched with sensation that would not be forgotten soon, if ever. So much sharper and deeper than any phantom dream hands. And Sanji's own hands reached around the swordsman's neck and splayed across the firm muscles of his shoulders, feeling the bone move beneath. Memorizing every touch. Sanji's knees began to feel weak and he leaned heavily against Zoro's torso. It was overwhelming, so much so quickly.

With a sharp breath as though he'd forgotten to breathe and what could have been a breathed, gasped curse, Zoro's lips broke from Sanji's only to relocate themselves a moment later at his jaw. Kisses explored his jawline, his neck, his ear. Roaming, pressing, demanding hands were joined by lashing, searing tongue and nipping, grazing teeth and quick, shocking points of suction. Sanji tasted like smoke and salt and spice and breath washing over his skin, Zoro took the taste as greedily as he took every other new part, new sensation, new realization of Sanji. A rough thumb grazed over Sanji's hip while the faintest, quietest of groans vibrated around his earlobe so softly.

Sanji clung to Zoro's shirt as though he'd fall to pieces were he to let go. He was fairly certain he'd forget to stand if he did. And with Zoro's tongue and teeth and lips ravaging his skin, remembering how to move at all was difficult. When the swordsman's thumb rubbed at his hip, though, he started, moaning into Zoro's shoulder and pushing against that hand, encouraging. He wanted it. Really, really wanted it. Wanted Zoro's hands to go where his dreams never did. And he tried to tell the other man without speaking, clutching at his clothes and sucking on the flesh at his shoulder. 

Zoro's fingers caught on Sanji's belt, moving inward to find the clasp and tug it loose. Then, with the first moment of hesitation since he'd started, Zoro's fingers twitched and then slid down, over the front of Sanji's slacks. His breath was slow, hot against Sanji's ear and neck as he slowly felt out the heat radiating from between Sanji's legs, palming at the bulge there. His head swam with the sensation, with everything from the mouth on his skin to the hardness beneath his fingers. And then with renewed fervor he tugged free the zipper on Sanji's slacks, rough fingers diving beneath the soft fabric of his shorts without another warning. 

A low moan built in Sanji's throat as Zoro tugged at his belt. When his warm rough hand finally touched flesh the sound fell from Sanji's lips, louder than he'd intended. But then, that simple contact felt immeasurably more amazing than he'd tried to imagine. And only a deep breath and every ounce of self control he still possessed kept him from coming on the spot.

Free hand tugging Sanji's pants and undergarments low enough to release his erection, Zoro let his fingers curl around Sanji's length. The heat in Zoro's own trousers throbbed and jumped with the feeling, at Sanji's heat in his grip. At the hot, sticky droplets that smeared under his fingertips. Unable to control himself, too wanting for it, his palm traveled over Sanji's length in slow, strong pumps. He choked on his own voice, holding back a groan of his own -- the hot, hard flesh in his hand felt so fucking good and the cook's voice made electricity shoot up his spine. 

Yes, yes. This was how it was supposed to be. Not crouched in the corner of the bath, hand hidden in his slacks where he had methodically brought himself to climax and red-faced, embaressed, crawled back to his hammock night after night. No, not like that. But here, in the galley with Zoro's heat wrapping around him, holding him tight, touching every place he could imagine. And he groped for Zoro's hips, wanting to share the feeling.

Zoro caught Sanji's fumbling hand and pressed it to the front of his own trousers, pressed his palm into the tight, strained fabric and the heat that Sanji stirred in him. Wanting to show him, see what you do to me? To tell him, this is you, all you. He stroked harder at Sanji's cock, impatient and wanting, his touch slickened by Sanji's weeping need as Zoro's fingers dipped into the wetness of his slit. He bit lightly, persistently along the pale but pink-flushed length of Sanji's neck.

Sanji palmed the hard heat between Zoro's thighs, licking his lips hungrily. As Zoro's hand stroked him closer and closer to climax, his own fingers pushed past the waist of the swordsman's pants, feeling out the course hair and soft skin of his sac before closing around the impossibly hard flesh. Sanji let out a shuddering breath as he began to stroke, finding the rhythm deftly. Unbidden, the hiss that slipped from his tongue was, "Zoro..." 

Gritting his teeth, Zoro's free arm came to rest on the solid wood of the door, behind Sanji's head, bracing himself as his stomach surged with the touch. His muscles, along his thighs, up his back shuddered as his hips rolled into Sanji's fingers. It was so good. So impossibly good and he was panting softly, pressing his forehead into his arm while gold hair brushed his cheek and his fingers jerked over Sanji's cock, all want and desperation and need and sensation. Aching to pull the climax from Sanji's body, to hear and see and feel him come beneath his hands, to make that pleasure slicken his fingers. A low, guttural groan vibrated between Sanji's teeth as Zoro demanded his mouth again, demanded all of him.

Sanji returned the kiss with enthusiasm, clutching at the back of Zoro's neck with his free hand. Some part of his wanted to drag it out, make it last as long as possible, forever even. But he also wanted, needed that release so badly, to finally let Zoro drag it from him. As Sanji lifted his gaze to take in the swordsman's tense face, and as a small, near inaudible moan fell from the larger man's lips, Sanji suddenly found he could no longer contain the sensations and he jerked, curling around his hand as he came, hard and hot into Zoro's hand. Distracted, his hand paused in its attention to the other man, but he didn't let go, rather squeezed tightly through his climax, unwilling to give up hold lest he not get it back. 

Zoro's breath hissed between his teeth as Sanji's pleasure spilled into his fingers, all but burning him with the intensity of his climax. His unforgiving, unfailing fingers pumped Sanji hard through his orgasm, even as the cook doubled over into him, gold hair tickling his neck and ear as his face pressed into Zoro's shoulder. Zoro's breath hitched and sparks danced at the edges of his vision as Sanji gripped him so hard, the hot flesh throbbing against his squeezing fingers. He forced himself to stay focused though, more intent for the moment on the writhing, shuddering mass of pale blond whose knees were starting to give out. Zoro finally released Sanji's softening cock to offer more support, fingers streaking sticky white across the cook's stomach in their movement.

Sanji didn't lift his face from Zoro's shoulder, but it wasn't long before his fingers remembered how to move again. He wrapped his free arm around Zoro's neck for support as his hand regained its rhythm and, eyes closed, still breathing hard, Sanji stroked and pulled at Zoro's cock, determined. 

A faint sound caught at the back of Zoro's throat, his own eyes shutting as well, breathing deeply, breathing Sanji in. Lust-drunk as much from the scent of his musk, his sweat and come as he was from the cook's skilled, working fingers. With one arm still bracing against the wall, his free hand moved under the loose curtain of Sanji's shirt for his sticky fingers to grasp at the other man's back while he fought with his hips that ached to jerk into the touch. His breath was hot over Sanji's neck and shoulder before his teeth met with the skin, biting softly, his arms tensing, body tensing around Sanji as the sensation built.

Sanji barely kept the moan from his own lips as he felt the quivering tension radiate from Zoro's sweat-slick skin. He parted his lips enough to let his tongue press and suck at the other man's shoulder, at his neck, and jaw, and behind his ear, breathing heavily through his mouth. Still he never paused in his other attentions, stroking harder and faster as he felt Zoro's fingers stiffen, pressing tighter at his back. His tongue darted to trace the edge of the swordsman's ear, tasting him, teasing him. 

A shudder racked Zoro's spine at the tickling, warm tongue on his ear, upsetting his earrings which in turn tickled equally teasingly at his neck. Shivering little spasms danced across his skin as the tension coiling in his stomach, in his whole being grew, so close to climax. Sanji's touch overwhelmed him. There were few things in the world that could make Roronoa Zoro feel weak. But the cook's hands on him, lips on him made his muscles tremble, made his thoughts thick and heady. And then gritting his teeth, he suddenly shoved Sanji back, pinning him tightly against the door as his other arm thumped down against the wood, fingers clawing at either side of Sanji's head. Bearing his teeth, tense and circling Sanji, leaning against him at the shoulders, he thrust hard into the deceptively slender fingers that gripped him. A groan was choked back, that shaking unquellable as he came under Sanji's touch in hard pulses that painted his pale stomach.

Sanji gasped aloud as he found himself suddenly pinned between the door and the shaking, wet body of the swordsman. A groan rumbled in his throat as Zoro's pleasure dripped down his heated abdomen and he released Zoro gently to bring slick fingers up his abdomen, smearing the now-cooling liquid up his still warm skin and finally found his mouth, sucking and licking clean the tips of his fingers. He shivered slightly, bathed in the heat of Zoro's climax, his taste swirling across Sanji's tongue. Better than he could have imagined. Better than anything had ever been. So much better than dreams.

Breathing hard, Zoro's hooded eyes followed Sanji's fingers to his lips, suppressing another shudder as he watched him lick the milky liquid from his fingers. Exhausted with the power of his climax, he darted in to catch Sanji's mouth, forcing his tongue past lips and teeth to languidly stroke at Sanji's tongue with his own, kissing him slowly and sleepily but enthusiasticly none the less. Perhaps the closest thing to gratitude that might be drawn from the swordsman's lips.

Sanji caught up the back of Zoro's head in both hands, leaning into him, his legs remembering that they had forgotten how to support him and he began to sink down to the floor, pulling the swordsman with him, never breaking the kiss. 

Zoro's palms slid down the door, finally meeting with the cool deck to ease himself to his knees between Sanji's legs. His tongue swirled around Sanji's, stealing back his own flavor that lingered there, laced with Sanji's taste. Finally he let his lips ease from the cook's, eyes slitting open. Just a breath away, his not-quite-caught breath tickled Sanji's lips. "That was a lot better than watching you," he managed quietly.

Sanji smiled very slightly, licking at Zoro's lips. "Dream hands have -nothing- on the real thing," he agreed, cheeks flushed at the rare compliment."And it was about damned time I found that out," he added, reaching a hand up to flick absently at Zoro's earrings.

Another irrepressible shudder tore down Zoro's back, over sensitized. "Oi, teme," he growled into Sanji's ear, sleepy but defensive regardless. "Fight fair, aho-cook..." he mumbled, leaning heavily against the other man and letting his teeth graze the pale ear before him as his speech washed hotly over it. 

Sanji squirmed under Zoro's weight, stifling a giggle at the tickling on his ear before he tried to push at the swordsman. "Oi, ero-marimo, my watch," he reminded Zoro.

"Nngh," Zoro grumbled petulantly. Sanji was comfortable and warm and he didn't feel like going back to the bunk rooms, to a narrow couch or cold spot on the floor. Stubbornly though, he would never actually voice this fact. So instead he mumbled, "I left my post. I should go back with you. To make it up."

Sanji leaned in, burying his nose in short green hair that smelled like the sea. "Yeah, okay," he murmured. "But only if you can get some sleep up there. I don't want you grumpy at my table for breakfast in the morning," he mock-scolded, nuzzling slightly at Zoro's hair. 

Zoro snorted quietly. "Yes -mom-," he muttered into Sanji's ear and a moment later was hitching up his pants as he evaded the cook's wrath. He slipped out the door in the moment that Sanji stood and his pants promptly puddled around his ankles. Then jumping the railing outside, he escaped to the mast, casting a satisfied smirk down at Sanji from the ladder when he emerged from the galley.

Sanji scowled. "You fucker," he muttered, trying to hid the hint of smile that twitched in the corner of his mouth as he coaxed his legs back to life and followed after the swordsman, pulling himself up the rigging to the mast. It was something of a relief to know some things would never change. 

When Sanji arrived in the crow's nest, Zoro's was flopped on the floor, arms folded over his chest and eyes shut as he leaned back against the railing. His imitation of sleep was quite convincing until he just barely cracked an eye open and then quickly shut it again.

Sanji shook his head, with only a small roll of the eye. But all he did was to lean down, touch his lips lightly to Zoro's then in one swift movement, nip gently at Zoro's pierced ear and straighten upright again. "Kuso-marimo..." he murmured, grin tugging at his mouth, as he leaned leisurely back against the crow's nest railing at looked up at the stars. Lovely night, he thought. Just right.

The faintest growl rumbled in Zoro's throat and moments later, a strong hand closed around Sanji's ankle and with a jerk, brought him tumbling down beside Zoro. A smirk argued with his trademark scowl but he didn't so much as open his eyes or utter a word, just settled so that his shoulder rested against Sanji's shoulder lightly. Sanji could see through the railing, he reasoned. It didn't disrupt his watch.

Sanji's instinct was to kick out at the moron who'd unexpectedly toppled him, but as Zoro leaned against him, shoulder to shoulder, he stopped, blinking for a moment, then allowed his hand to find and rest on Zoro's thigh as his eyes traveled over the other's peaceful false-sleeping face. Then, Sanji leaned in to place a small chaste kiss into Zoro's hair before turning his eyes to the sea.


End file.
